The Tower
by mishacollinsinmypants
Summary: This story starts off rather normal, and then twists and turns into something a lot more gruesome than Sherlock or John could have ever imagined.


"Oh for goodness sake Sherlock!" John's howl could be heard down the street, the place Sherlock was currently attempting to ignore Mycroft's car gliding beside him. Sherlock wondered if John had found the toes in the oven. John often yelled at him for doing things like that. Heads in the fridge, eyes in the microwave, full bodies on the table, half bodies on the table… The list was near endless. _You'd think he'd of got used to it by now_, he thought to himself.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, caught his reflection in the window of the car, still gliding next to him, and smiled. _Tinted windows, Mycroft you posh bastard._ He flipped his coat collar up in that way John always found annoying and turned to face the door of 221B Baker Street, London. He could hear John's mutters of annoyance and Mrs Hudson's sighs as soon as he opened the door. _Definitely the toes_. He made his way upstairs, unintentionally quiet and walked through the open door to find John picking up toes with his hands wrapped in paper towels. He suppressed a chuckle.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell is this?!" John Watson stood to face him, hands on hip.

"An experiment." Sherlock replied, uncaring for the mess on the floor.

"Please, enlighten me on what kind of bloody experiment could you possibly need toes in the - you know what? Don't even tell me. Don't bother." He sounded exasperated and Sherlock turned to hide his guilty blush. John bent to continue picking up the toes, trying not to gag. He didn't like disappointing John, he wanted to be the best flat mate he could but his stupid, stupid brain wouldn't let that happen. _Just try and have some bloody empathy will you! _He screamed at himself, internally.

"I'm sorry John, perhaps next time there are toes in the oven I should at least warn you." John smiled at Sherlock's sarcasm and picked up the last toe and dropped in into the jar they'd come from.

"Yes, perhaps you should Sherlock." He said, a little too harshly. John noticed his tone and pulled the kitchen towel from his hand and walked up behind Sherlock and wrapped his arm around his waist, hugging him from behind, and resting his chin on Sherlock's shoulder. "Perhaps you should."

Sherlock couldn't sleep. Too many sounds, too many sights, too many thoughts. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the back of John's head, his soft, blonde hair. He tried to keep his ears focused on his slow, steady breathing. And he tried to clear his mind. He'd tried this many times that night; so far, no luck.

He needed a distraction. More than just an experiment. He needed a case, but Lestrade may never let him on a case again after embarrassing him in front of the press. Apparently hacking into the system to get people's phone numbers to send them all "His flies are undone." is unacceptable.

Sherlock uncurled himself from his position next to John and got out of bed. Wrapping his dressing gown around him, he sat on the sofa and pulled his laptop out from underneath some case files and opened it up. The screen glared bright white, but Sherlock didn't even squint. He was used to the glare of a laptop at night. He typed in his password and opened up Google Chrome. Facebook, YouTube and John's blog all came up as suggestions... "John really needs to get his laptop fixed." he muttered to himself.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John's voice reached Sherlock's ears from the doorway. John yawned. "I thought you were already asleep, or I would have kept talking!"

"No, John it's fine. I'm just... bored. As always." He craned his neck around drank in John, stood in the door way with the bed sheet wrapped around him, all biceps and defined stomach. John walked over and sat next to him, with his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder.

"I know sweetoe, I'm sure we'll find you a case soon." John kissed him on the cheek with dry lips and whispered "come to bed Sherlock, it's cold without you."

**The Blog of Dr. John Watson.**

**Blog Entry - 16th December 2014:**

_Sherlock's bored again. That bloody man, always bored_. _It's nearly Christmas though... Oh God, Christmas. Last year was a disaster. Coming out as a couple to Lestrade, Mycroft and well everyone. On Christmas day! Trust Sherlock..._

_But like I was saying, he's bored. He desperately needs a case! We've done it once before, we can do it again. Two knocks, two seconds apart on 221B Baker Street, London for a case of your own to be investigated. _

_Please don't be offended if he doesn't like your case. He's not great with manners._

_Thanks guys._

_P.S - let's stop with the creepy comments? _

__"John?" Sherlock shouted through to the bedroom.

"Yes?" John sighed, he just wanted to lie in bed all day. It was a Wednesday, a day he rarely got off from work as it was always so busy at the clinic then.

"What's with the post? I'm not _that_ bored... We'll get creepy 'fangirls' knocking on our door like last time!" Sherlock didn't get scared easily, but that cult that named themselves 'fangirls' were utterly terrifying.

"Yes, and like last time, we'll just have to pose for the camera and sign bits of paper, maybe a few bras." John sniggered to himself, remembering the first time Sherlock had to sign a bra. A teenage girl around 16 years old had simply lifted her shirt and asked Sherlock to sign her bra. She didn't even blink. Sherlock had been taken a back, and scared. And John just laughed at him until his sides hurt. Sherlock finally signed the thing, and then handed the pen to him. John had looked confused until the girl looked at him, with her shirt still in the air and said 'You too!' and then it was his turn to be surprised.

Sherlock sat on the dark leather sofa and twiddled his thumbs. He was already showered and dressed. He was wearing the purple shirt that John liked. He liked to impress sometimes. It was only 11am and Sherlock was already bored. He hadn't been up long. Nothing bad enough was on TV to stomach shouting at, and no case.

John padded through in just his Calvin Klein boxers and curled up next to Sherlock and rested his head in his lap. John was soon up again, though. Two knock rang through the house. Two knocks, two seconds apart. "I'd better go and get dressed then..." John sighed.


End file.
